


When I'm just trying to watch The Office, with my yogurt

by notebooksandlaptops



Series: The Amazing Devil inspired prompts [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (oh god they were roommates), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date Night, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Getting Together, Himbo Geralt, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier gets to wear a dress in this one too? You bet your ass he does, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Pets, Polyamory, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Roommates, Slow Burn, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, and they were ROOMMATES, annoyance to lovers, or is it actually...sneaky geralt, some eventual mild smut, tired dad geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebooksandlaptops/pseuds/notebooksandlaptops
Summary: “You are going to live with me. Shall I tell you all the reasons why in alphabetical order, or in order of your own stupidity? Your apartment building is snake infested. You are clearly too much of a toddler to handle your own living arrangements. If you end up homeless, Geralt will get mopey, and neither of us need that on our hands.” She counted them off on her fingers.Jaskier was pretty sure that she was forgetting the part where him moving in would enable her to complete the plan she had very clearly concocted where she was going to poison him and wear a stunning black number to the funeral, hiding her smirk behind running mascara and fake tears.Jaskier made a sound that was supposed to be indigent, but came out as more of a squeak than anything else, “And I don’t have a say in this?”-///-Or, after Geralt points out Yennefer has a spare room in her apartment, Jaskier moves in with her. He's so busy worrying about being posioned, he doesn't spare a thought to what he should actually be worried about: falling in love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Amazing Devil inspired prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693501
Comments: 117
Kudos: 361





	1. Chapter 1

“And- _I kid you not -_ there’s a fucking _snake_ infestation in the basement. I thought that sort of thing only happened in straight-to-DVD-movies! And my piece of shit landlord doesn’t want to fork out the money the pest-removers, despite the fact that his properties are all _grossly_ overpriced, so he’s asking the tenants to pay themselves! I’m living in an apartment block with _snakes_ in the basement, do I _look_ like I have the money for that kind of expense?”

Geralt grunted.

Yennefer raised her eyebrows.

Renfri looked amused, but less in the _concerned-yet-happy-to-be-hearing-another-of-Jaskier’s-famed-amazing-tales_ sort of way and more in the _I’m-going-to-win-the-bet-on-when-Jaskier-eventually-kicks-the-bucket_ sort of way _._

Only Triss _actually_ looked sympathetic, but given sympathetic was her base-state, Jaskier didn’t think that counted.

And he’d put _effort_ into this one; he'd been rehearsing it all the way to meet them at the pub Geralt worked evening shifts at. His tale of woe was just the right amount of funny and tragic, with a hint of irony too. Irony because this was the _fifth_ time in the past _year_ he’d ended up in a shitty apartment with a shitty landlord.

He was cursed. Someone had clearly cursed him. Probably Yennefer.

A tap of perfectly manicured purple nails on the table, “Are you quite done?”

_Definitely Yennefer._

“Yen, my darling, my dear, my lover’s lover, the goth purple to my pastel pink—"

“Get _on_ with it, Julian,” she’d never had much of a high tolerance for his bullshit. In fact, very few people at this table did. Tossers, the lot of them.

“—This is _serious._ I can’t find an apartment that doesn’t want to kill me!” He pointed his finger towards her, before taking a swig of beer, “No. No smirking. Only people who are also _actually_ concerned for my well-being are allowed to laugh at this.”

“Seems like you came to the wrong table then,” Renfri responded slyly, a smirk curling dangerously at the corner of her lips.

Honestly, one day he was going to get up and walk out of their lives, and they’d all see how much they missed him when there was no-one to lighten their world-weary pessimism or provide strategic comic relief to their fucked up existences.

Sometimes he really, really missed Essi. Not that he wasn’t proud of her for going on a world tour but—he _needed_ her here as a buffer between these scary wonderful women he called his friends.

But when Essi wasn’t here, there was only one buffer he had in his arsenal.

“ _Geralt._ ”

Geralt huffed, a hand moving to squeeze Jaskier’s shoulder absently. Well. By Geralt’s standards that was practically inappropriate levels of PDA. He should probably be thrilled. He probably would have been if not for, well. There were _snakes_ in his apartment.

“So, you’re looking for a new place?” Triss offered the olive branch.

“Yeah,” Jaskier sighed, “but it’s tricky, you know? I think I’ve pissed off every single landlord in the city limits who’s actually decent, and then the ones who _aren’t_ decent keep on putting snakes in my basement!”

“Hmm, I think it was rats, last time,” Renfri reminded, unhelpfully, “or was last time the time you were thrown out for playing music at indecent hours?”

Jaskier threw up his hands, “nine PM isn’t indecent by _anyone’s_ standards.”

Oh, the hardships of being a struggling musician on a low income.

Geralt shifted to grab their empty glasses. Sometimes, with how much time he spent at their table while working, Jaskier forgot he was _actually supposed to be bartending._ It was a good job that his bosses liked him. If Jaskier pulled that shit at any of his temp jobs he’d be out the door before he could even attempt to apologise. In fact, Jaskier _had_ experienced that very situation multiple times (things that weren’t music, or Geralt usually failed to hold his attention for long periods of time and making coffee or filing paperwork was so boring how could anyone blame him for taking a few breaks?).

Jaskier shifted to pout at his boyfriend again, just for the hell of it.

Of course, as much as he loved Geralt and as much as Geralt could prove a great bodyguard when times called he was also a filthy, filthy traitor. Which he proved a moment later when he said – nonchalantly, he had the fucking audacity to be nonchalant - “Yennefer has a spare room. Why don’t you move in with her?”

Considering they were in a crowded bar, on a Friday night, with a hell of a lot of background noise it really shouldn’t be possible for the room to go completely silent.

 _And yet._ That was exactly what it felt like had happened. Silence had certainly fallen stiffly onto their little table.

“Uh,” Jaskier said, rather eloquently.

“ _No._ Get him to move in with you,” Yennefer’s violet eyes shone and oh, Geralt was lucky that he had _two_ partners he could get some from because that was the very epitome of a _no-sex-for-you-for-a-week_ look. And he was pretty sure Yennefer’s willpower was stronger than his when it came to threats like that one.

Geralt shook his head. He looked almost suspiciously calm, “me and Ciri don’t have the room.” And then – traitor that he was – he stole off towards the bar. Because oh _now_ he had to work. Bastard.

Jaskier turned to glare at Yennefer.

Yennefer glared right back.

Geralt had _good_ taste in men, quite clearly, as he was dating Jaskier. But his taste in women? Appalling. Awful. Terrible. He picked the ones who could rip a still-beating heart from a man’s chest and laugh about it. And Yennefer? He’d never once understood why Geralt had fallen in love with her.

He was truly a dimwit if he thought that Jaskier would _ever_ move in with her.

Jaskier would rather dye his eyebrows bright green. He’d rather sleep on a park bench. He’d rather live with the snakes.

Taking a sip of his pint, he shook his head. He was _not_ going to move in with Yennefer Vengerberg. And that was quite final.

-///-

“Alright, alright, I’m coming, I’m _coming_. Hold your horses, Jesus _Christ,”_ Jaskier shouted, struggling to tie the pink silk of his dressing gown properly around his waist while still mildly (alright, incredibly, but he’d needed the beer to drown out the lethal concept of moving in with Yennefer) hungover.

Saturday mornings should be illegal – let alone people knocking incessantly at the door on Saturday mornings and _waking him up._

It was probably his shitty ass landlord.

Or the neighbour who liked to complain that he _snored_ too loud.

Or maybe the snakes. Maybe the snakes were very polite snakes who would toss you a warning before devouring you whole – or whatever it was snakes did to their victims.

He sighed, opened the door, and prepared to greet his snake induced end.

It was not a snake.

Well, at least, not a _literal_ snake.

“What— _Yennefer_? The fuck? How do you even know where I _live_?”

The fact that she just rolls her eyes and steps into his – now that he thinks about it – rather messy apartment is not helping him feel any better about the current situation.

And she looked incredibly out of place, in one of those flawless gowns she manages to make look like appropriate day-wear, the deep black bringing out the irate look in her violet gaze as she cast it around Jaskier’s shithole of an apartment.

“Geralt is bringing up the boxes. We assumed that – despite how often you move – you wouldn’t _actually_ be prepared to get on with the process.”

Jaskier blinked. This was _so_ unfair. He hadn’t even had coffee yet – he was in no fit state to deal with whatever _this_ was.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

She cast him a withering look – and by the gods, if looks could kill. An even scarier thought considering the fact that he hasn’t actually worked out if Yennefer’s looks can kill or not. He’s ninety-nine per cent certain that she has access to some form of arcane magic and even if she _doesn’t_ her will seems the type that would be strong enough to kill him out of sheer stubborn _desire_ for it. When Yennefer commanded, the universe jumped – you didn’t say no to a woman like that. “We’re moving you out. You’re living with me.”

Well. You didn’t _often_ say no to a woman like that. If you were smart. Jaskier had never claimed to be smart. “Uh, no. _No._ I’m _not._ ”

Actually, he’d been pretty certain they’d both adamantly agreed that they would not be moving in together. Ever. Geralt, when he suggested it, had clearly been drinking on the job or else had fallen off Roach the last time he was at the stables and had hit his head. Because there was no _way on earth_ that Jaskier and Yennefer would _ever_ be living together. It shouldn’t even be _legal_ for them to do so.

He’d thought that – at least on this - they would be on the same page.

Apparently, God refused to grant him even small mercies.

“Shut up.”

“But—”

“ _Now._ ”

And okay, that was her _I-could-crush-you-like-a-bug_ voice. Jaskier shut up.

 _“_ You _are_ going to live with me. Shall I tell you all the reasons why in alphabetical order, or in order of your own stupidity? Your apartment building is snake invested. You are clearly too much of a toddler to handle your own living arrangements. If you end up homeless, Geralt will get mopey, and neither of us need _that_ on our hands.” She counted them off on her fingers.

Jaskier was pretty sure that she was forgetting the part where him moving in would enable her to complete the plan she had very clearly concocted where she was going to poison him and wear a stunning black number to the funeral, hiding her smirk behind running mascara and fake tears.

Jaskier made a sound that was supposed to be indigent, but came out as more of a squeak than anything else, “And I don’t have a say in this?”

“Oh, _sweetheart,_ ” her voice is sickly thick and mocking, “maybe you can boss Geralt around in the bedroom but let’s not pretend you’ll ever be able to defy _me_ anywhere at all.”

And she is a bitch, an absolute, madding, dangerous bitch.

He sighs and starts collecting his things together.

This is _only_ because of the snakes.

-///-

“A temporary arrangement,” Jaskier insists down the phone later on.

He can practically hear Essi’s disapproving look even from six hundred miles away, “look, love, not to scare you or anything but your _life_ will be a temporary arrangement if you don’t get out of there soon.”

Jaskier, begrudgingly, will admit that she might have a point. Like he said: he’s pretty sure it’s in Yennefer’s plans to poison him. Maybe she’s in her room right now picking out the pretty black number she’s going to wear to his funeral. Does she already have a perfectly picked out mascara that runs on hand?

Maybe he should be running for the door.

He was exhausted though, and he wasn’t sure he could handle _another_ moving day. Packing up all his stuff today with Yennefer’s firm reminders that the lot of it was to stay in his bedroom was bad enough – let alone the way Renfri had smirked and Triss had looked almost consoling when they’d both showed up to help unpack it all at the other end.

And now? Now he was in a bedroom. His bedroom. His bedroom in _Yennefer’s apartment._

“Look, I can barely afford rent here – and I’m pretty sure given the size of this place she’s either paying in, I don’t know, nudes, or she’s made my ‘half’ a ‘quarter’. I don’t know _why_ she decided to do this seen as she doesn’t _have_ any goodness in her heart to do it out of, but I’m _tired_ and her apartment doesn’t have _snakes_ in it, so…at least for the next week, I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be smothered with a pillow.”

He snorted, “oh, please, Yennefer is not that pedestrian. She’d do something slyer than that, something she can make out as an accident.”

And they’re joking. Mostly. But he hears Essi sigh, and the way her tone turns serious, “Jaskier. I’m worried about you. I know you’re running out of options when it comes to where to live, but this seems…was there really no one else?”

Nobody off the top of his head. His social circle was big, but the people he actually gave a damn about? He could count them on his hands. And the people who actually gave a damn about him? He could count them on _one_ hand.

“Look, Geralt _might_ be the kind of man to think with his cock from time to time, but he wouldn’t be _dating her_ if she wasn’t at least semi-alright. If I can’t trust what I see in her, I’ll trust what he sees in her. And like I said, temporary. I’ll make sure I’m keeping up with apartment listings, find a good one. In the meantime, I get to use the awesome coffee machine she has in the kitchen. I’ll be fine, Essi, really. I’ll stick to my room, mostly.”

Essi sighs again, but it's one of resignation this time.

Fuck, he misses her.

“Be _careful,_ Jaskier. And…good luck, I guess?"

Yeah, good luck. He was _definitely_ going to need that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about this one folks! I love love love this pairing and getting to write a slow burn and watch them slowly come together? That's an absolute privilege (it's what's going to get me through exam season). I've got a big mindmap of the journey I want to take them on here and literally every point makes my heart go '!!!'. A huge thank you to the amazing @thegirlinthetardisat221b on tumblr for being the person I can hash my ideas out with.
> 
> For those of you waiting on an update for Your Highness, Our Idiot - it is not forgotten! I need to go through and edit the latest chapter, and I'm juggling that, this, ficlets and my Big Bang submission - but it will be completed! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments! They all make my day! Or come talk to me on tumblr @jaskier-wearing-dresses


	2. Chapter 2

“ _Julian.”_

Ah, here they went.

He was used to the unfairly aggravated tone of voice Yennefer could take with him; he’d been hearing it semi-regularly since the first day they met. What he was not used to was hearing it every _ten bloody seconds._

Oh, he hadn’t known how much he would miss the neighbour who complained about his snoring.

Right now, if he was being entirely honest, he’d even take the snakes over _this_.

“What _now_?”

He’d like to come up with a dozen metaphors for her ominous presence in his doorway, but honestly? It was less terrifying after the dozenth time and more plain old _pesky_.

“I told you to _keep it down._ ”

“And, _darling,_ if you remember the other _hundred_ times you’ve been in here _I_ told _you_ that an acoustic guitar doesn’t _have_ a volume control. It’s a one size suits all, I’m afraid,” he ran his fingers over the strings lightly. It wasn’t like it was an unreasonable hour – and she’d _known_ he was a musician when she’d gone and played saviour in opening up her apartment to him.

“It very clearly _isn’t_ because it doesn’t suit me at all.”

It had been a week. An incredibly _long_ week. And living with Yennefer was going about as swimmingly as he had envisioned, which basically meant it was doing fuck all but give him a headache.

“I’m a musician, Yennefer, I can’t bloody pack in my writing just because you want to—do whatever it is you do alone in your room.”

And wasn't that was a mystery? Because he’d lived with her for a week and she’d been almost as elusive as when he didn’t live with her, except now she’d pop up and tell him his music was shit five times a minute. Maybe she really was practising arcane magic in there. It wouldn't surprise him. 

“I’m _relaxing._ Maybe it’s not a concept you’ve heard of,” Yennefer, he thought, had the ‘glare’ perfected. Nobody could do it quite like her. The rest of the world could pack up and go home, leave all their glaring to the violet-eyed bitch who had somehow become Jaskier’s roommate.

And, alright, she did look like she was trying to relax, he’d give her that. He still wasn’t used to seeing her out of her perfectly put together outfits, but in the past week, he’d found she was more liable to wear one of Geralt’s old shirts than she was to don anything fancy within the confines of these four walls. It was…odd. But no matter what she was wearing, she was no less infuriating.

“Look,” he set down the guitar on the side. His room, at least, was a hell of a lot bigger than the one at his old place, even if it was currently stuffed full of boxes he hadn’t bothered to unpack yet. There was a very real chance she would kick him out before the end of the month, and if she did he wanted to be able to leave quickly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to take a reasonable tone, “this is something we’re going to have to work out. Because if I don’t practice, I won’t get gigs, and if I can’t get gigs, I won’t be able to afford a decent apartment on my own. I’m never getting a _good_ landlord with my temp jobs. Stardom if the way to get me out your hair.”

That was part of it, at least. The part he thought she’d understand. The other side was the _itch._ He had no other word for the way his fingers would twitch and tension would build when he didn’t let himself play. His mother used to say he was born of music, that his lungs were constructed first for his songs and only second to keep him breathing. He thought that his mother was probably right.

Of course, if he told Yennefer that she’d probably laugh at him.

She shifted her bare legs, stance becoming less predatory and more resigned, leaning against the door frame. Her expression was the very epitome of regretful, but that was okay – sometimes Jaskier regretted moving in here too.

At least the coffee machine was good. And it _was_ nice not having to worry about fucking _snakes_ in the basement.

“Fine. Not after eight PM.” She spoke finally.

“ _Eight?_ Yennefer that’s practically—”

“ _Julian._ I said _not_ after eight PM. Do you want me to make it seven?”

He’d probably have argued more, could feel the words sat on his tongue just waiting to wage war, but— it was easier to just take it. At least then if she insisted on continuing her tirade against him he could throw her own rule back in her face. He sighed, feeling incredibly put upon, “Fine. But you’re paying for takeout tonight.”

She snorted.

“I’m serious. I can’t pay _every_ time.”

Somehow by the end of the evening, he was handing over his own twenty bucks to the pizza delivery guy. Because _of course_ he was.

-///-

“Geralt, it’s _hell._ Absolute utter _hell._ Are you sure you actually like her company? That she’s not—I don’t know, put a spell on you? Tied her destiny to yours with an evil wish? Made you her willing sex slave through unknown but nefarious means?”

This wasn’t the first time he’d stormed out of the apartment in a huff since he moved in, but it was the first time he’d ended up at Geralt’s afterwards. Probably not a good idea. Geralt had the rather infuriating policy of not taking sides. Which was bullshit, quite frankly, because if it hadn’t been for him and his big mouth they wouldn’t even _be_ in this situation in the first place. Jaskier would have been happily eaten alive by snakes and Yennefer wouldn’t be shouting at him every time he dared to venture out of the confines of his bedroom.

Geralt grunted, purposely keeping his eyes fixed on the book he was reading. Jaskier wasn’t fooled. He hadn’t even turned a page in half an hour. “She asked you to make sure you replace the milk after you’ve finished with it, Jaskier. You’ll live,”

Well. Breaking the policy of not taking sides in the _wrong_ direction simply wouldn’t do either, “Dearheart, I am _wounded_ , simply wounded, that you would break your oath of neutrality in order to defend my bitterest rival.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Jask.”

“And _I_ am your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who will _not_ be giving you cuddles tonight if you don’t back me up here.”

“Well, that just makes me want to defend her _more,_ ” Geralt finally glanced over the cover of his book. And if Yennefer had glaring down to a T, Geralt held the title for being able to best show how unimpressed he was with a brief glance. Unfortunately for Geralt, however, the curl of his lip also noted that he was _amused._ Jaskier had become fluent in Geralt’s facial expressions, mono-syllabic grunts and swears a _long_ time ago, he couldn’t be fooled now.

“Bastard,” Jaskier grumbled, plucking the book from Geralt’s grip and setting it on the tiny bedside table next to a precarious pile of knick-knacks, change and a mug that was dangerously close to falling off the edge, all of which were vying for space which didn’t exist. Of course, if there was one adjective Jaskier _wouldn’t_ use to describe Geralt’s apartment it was spacious. The tiny bedside table fit with the tiny bedroom it sat in, housed in the tiny apartment that was only _just_ big enough for a single Dad to raise a teenage daughter, let alone the single Dad to raise a teenage daughter while his two lovers took turns stopping by.

“Just give it time, lark,” Geralt murmured, a kiss pressed to Jaskier’s forehead as he pulled him close. Jaskier pretended to grumble but went easily. He always went easily, when Geralt called. Call it a curse, call it a blessing, but from the moment he’d set his eyes on this man it was like his internal compass shifted. Geralt was his North now.

 _Damn,_ there was a good song in that metaphor somewhere. He shifted to nab his phone and write it down before it escaped him, settling with his back against Geralt’s chest when it was safely recorded, adding his phone to test the limits of the precarious bedside table pile.

“I don’t _need_ to give it time. As soon as I can, I’m moving out. And _don’t._ Don’t grumble, you’re not allowed. Just because it’s more convenient for you to have us both in one place, you’ll find it’s _not_ convenient arranging the funeral of your deceased boyfriend when she _kills me._ ” And honestly? He was only _slightly_ exaggerating the chances of that at this point.

Geralt ducked his head, voice an almost-growl in Jaskier’s ear “You are more similar than you think.”

“That is _not_ the compliment you think it is.”

There was quiet for a few moments, Jaskier tracing idle patterns with his thumb against Geralt’s arm. Then—

“I’m a shit boyfriend, aren’t I? Fuck, I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night and immediately started complaining. I haven’t even _asked_ how your day was.”

Geralt breath was warm against the nape of his neck as he chuckled slightly, the vibrations of it pressed against Jaskier’s back, “fine. It’s been fine. Mostly,” Jaskier could practically _hear_ Geralt’s annoyance at how many words he was taking to say what needed to be said, “Ciri’s fallen out with Dara again, so she’s cancelled her plans with him this weekend. I’m not going to get to go see Roach.”

Jaskier frowned, “Why?”

“I don’t particularly like to leave her on her own for too long on weekends. You know this. Vesemir will make sure Roach is taken care of, it’s fine.”

“No, I get that, I mean—” he shifted so he could actually look at Geralt, propping himself up on one elbow, “look, I like Ciri. And me and you, we’ve been friends for, what? Coming on five years? Dating for two of those? If you need a babysitter, _I’m_ not busy this weekend.”

He would have been half offended Geralt hadn’t asked him straight away, except that from the intake of breath behind him, that wasn’t even something Geralt had _considered._ Lords above, he could be dense, sometimes. Or maybe he just forgot, from time to time, that he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d never be alone, if Jaskier had a say in it. Not again. And that was something he thought he and Yennefer would actually manage to agree on.

“I wouldn’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job.” Geralt muttered finally.

“Geralt, darling, I’m not asking for it to be my job – I expect no wages or compensation. It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the apartment and away from Lady Satan herself for a few hours. Really. I can handle your daughter. I _like_ your daughter. She’s funny, and sweet and, okay, a bit of a temper – let’s not forget the Monopoly incident of 2018 - but that only makes her more endearing in my eyes.”

Geralt was quiet and—shit, maybe Jaskier had crossed a line? The man could be protective of Ciri, deathly so, and Jaskier didn’t begrudge him that. He was a good Dad. Honestly? Jaskier wished his Dad had been _half_ as attentive and caring when it came to his needs as Geralt was with Cirilla. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed? He back peddled quickly, “Uh, if you’re uncomfortable it doesn’t—”

“No. I’m not uncomfortable,” Geralt interrupted. Then—“If you wouldn’t mind taking her out for the day, I would be…grateful. She likes you. She’d enjoy it.”

Jaskier settled, a smile on his lips as he turned to press a quick kiss to Geralt’s lips, resting his head against the other's chest. “Text me and let me know what time you want me around on Saturday then.”

-///-

Jaskier had just settled in to watch mindless reruns of _The Office_ when there was a _bang_ from the direction of the front door that did _not_ scare him half to death, thank you very much – really, it didn’t, he spilt his yogurt on purpose.

Furiously cleaning up the offending stain with the corner of his shirt before the click of those heels could reach the living room (the _last_ thing he needed right now is Yennefer demanding that he buy her a new couch, especially after the shitty day he’d had waiting tables) – he was fully expecting her to come in and make fun of the state of his clothing.

Instead, she barely looked at him as she passed from the living room to the kitchen. After a moment there was the distinct sound of cupboard doors banging open, and what was very possibly falling crockery.

Yennefer was a storm. He knew this. It was one of the first things that he realised about her; she was a storm, lightening in her fingertips, thunder in her voice, a thrashing, unrelenting rain flashing in the violets of her eyes.

It was not a storm he wanted to get caught in the middle of while it was raging. And she didn’t like him in the so-called ‘communal’ living spaces at the best of times. He was about to get up and retreat (very quickly) to his room except suddenly she appeared in the living room, her hair cascading over her shoulders and the softness of it at juxtaposition to the frankly _deathly_ look on her face.

“Uh, I was just about to head to my room—”

“No. You weren’t. Stay.” She collapsed onto the couch next to him, legs tucking up underneath her. “I don’t mind the Office. We can watch it together.”

And he’s, well. He’s sat here, and his shirt has got yogurt on it for Christ's sake, he should probably get out while he still can. There’s a _tension_ to the room, and he was hoping for a relaxing evening in. He’s babysitting Ciri tomorrow and he’s weirdly nervous about the whole thing despite the fact that he was the one who offered it in the first place. He can’t stop thinking about what Geralt said, about how Ciri would enjoy the day spent with him. What if she _didn’t_? It seemed like far too much pressure for what would probably be a relatively easy day. What his anxiety _didn’t_ need was an argument with Yennefer tonight.

But Yennefer…didn’t look like she was about to start an argument. Instead, she’d her head back against the cushions and as he watched she let out a sigh that sounded like the last drops of rain before sun.

Huh.

He almost asks what’s wrong, what happened today, why the cupboards in the kitchen just got a beating, but while they’re _roommates_ maybe, but he’s not sure it’s his place. So, the Office.

He’s surprised when, about ten minutes in, she does a full-on snort, hiding her face in her arm. Oh shit, what’s he done now? He was pretty damn certain he hadn’t done anything except…no, she wasn’t snorting at him. She was _laughing._ At a _joke._ On the _Office._ And not her practised laugh either, the one she could wield like a blade in public. No, this was a real laugh.

It was without a doubt the most human he had ever seen her.

It was…weird. Odd. Interesting. He pulled his gaze away from her. He wasn’t sure when he started watching her instead of the TV anyway.

Jaskier dug out his phone, _Yennefer is watching The Office like us mere mortals? She laughed? Confused and concerned – should I take her to the ER? -JP_

Essi texts back straight away, of course, because she is a darling _And it’s a bad thing you share a favourite TV show in common? -ED_

_It’s disconcerting! -JP_

Four episodes in and Yennefer stretches her feet in front of her, her arms above her head. Like a cat. She’s _just_ like a cat, sometimes. Vicious, with claws, but…also _this_ apparently. Curling up on the sofa to watch a dumb show. “Am I making enough pasta for two?” she asked.

Jaskier blinked. She was…offering to cook them dinner?

It was probably going to be poisoned. He should probably say no.

“Yeah, alright then.”

She gave him a curt nod before disappearing back into the kitchen. This time there’s no sound of clashing, only the gentle scent of freshly chopped herbs after a little while.

Huh.

_Weird._

-///-

“I could always take her with me to the stables—”

“You _hate_ company at the stables. Go, go, we’ll be fine, won’t we, Ciri?”

Ciri grunts into her cereal. Ah, like father like daughter. But Jaskier won’t begrudge her it – it _is_ nine o’clock on a Saturday morning and she’s thirteen years old. At her age, Jaskier wasn’t dragging himself from his duvet on a weekend until _at least_ noon (alright, he _still_ doesn’t often, but screw him – what is adulthood for if not gifting your inner child with everything they ever wanted?)

Geralt still looks uncertain, perched in the doorway. Jaskier sighs, cups his cheeks in his hands, “Geralt, seriously. She’s thirteen, not a toddler. She basically runs herself, I’m but humble entertainment.” He reached up on his tiptoes, brushed his lips over Geralt’s just so. “Trust me. Go.”

Geralt cast one last glance back at Ciri, before finally, _finally_ getting out the door. God, you would think he’d never left her alone in his life.

Jaskier let out a breath of relief. “Right then,” he turned to Cirilla where she was sat at the very tiny kitchen table, hops up onto the kitchen side like Geralt will never let him do, and proceeds to dig out his phone. “So, I know you’re probably too cool for me now you’re not nine anymore, but I figured you’re _not_ too cool for a free trip to the cinema. You got anything you’d like to see?”

And that grunt turns into a grin.

_Bingo._

So, to the cinema, they go to watch something that has _far_ too much action for Jaskier’s usual preferences, and the timelines all screwed up – he’s not sure what’s the past and what’s the present, and the fact that none of the characters seem to age mean there’s very little clue in appearance - but _hey_ he gets to see hot people fighting with swords so he’s not complaining.

Something softens in his chest too, when they come out of the theatre and Ciri is ranting away about what her favourite scene was. The green in her eyes is so bright, and maybe she’s on a bit of a sugar high (Jaskier is the _king_ of going overboard with movie snacks) but she’s laughing and laughing and Jaskier has never been one for children, but he sees Geralt’s strength and courage in her and thinks he might actually love her.

Huh. Who’d have thought?

Well, okay, probably _everyone;_ he is known for being soft and he _does_ stay over at Geralt and Cirilla’s house about once a week. But still.

“Pizza?” He manages, when he can get a word in edgeways (a rather novel experience in his books – he’s usually the one who’s running a conversation a mile a minute).

Ciri’s grin is back and it is blinding.

The waiter is just setting down their food when he broaches the subject. He’s not her father, wants to keep it light, but then, sometimes its better to have someone to talk to who you know can’t actually punish you. A friendly face to spew problems to. “So, Geralt said you had a falling out with your friend, huh?”

Ciri sighed, “Not really. I mean, kind of? He’s being a dick.”

“Language.”

She fixes his with a look, takes a bite of pizza, chews, swallows and then: “Fine. He’s being a little _shit._ ”

Jaskier laughs despite himself. He can’t help it. Fuck, if she isn’t Geralt’s daughter through and through.

“Alright, fine. There a reason?”

“He just, I don’t know. He acts like I _owe_ him, sometimes. Or like…like I have it so much better than him now.”

“And why would he think that?” Jaskier hums, tucking into his own meal.

Ciri sighs, pushes blonde strands out of her eyes, “We knew each other back when we were both in the foster system.”

Ah, touchy subject, he knows. It took Ciri and Geralt a long time to find each other, even if she _is_ his daughter through and through. When he’d met Geralt, all those many years ago, he’d only just adopted her and was still panicking about it near constantly. It’s funny, to remember those times now. Geralt slipped into the role of ‘tired but adoring father’ so well that Jaskier almost forgets that he had no intention to play it until he met Ciri.

“He’s still in it,” she murmurs finally. “But that doesn’t give him any right to say he’s got it harder than me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jaskier can’t relate. He’s never dealt with half the crap Cirilla’s had to in her lifetime. “I know something about dealing with idiots who take their crap out on you sometimes. I bet your friend is just feeling frustrated at his own situation, and angry – however unjustly – that he doesn’t have someone like Geralt in his life. But look, he’s your friend right? He’ll apologise eventually.”

She shifted, green eyes dropping to her plate, avoiding his gaze, “maybe…I might need to apologise too. I shouted at him.”

Ah, and there dear Cirilla _did_ have a bit of a temper on her, didn’t she? Jaskier had seen it, sometimes, when she’d _scream_ at Geralt – angry and hateful and _hurting._ It could get…pretty awful. And it wasn’t really his place to deal with it so it was…awkward, when it happened and he was about. Still, she always seemed to apologise. Apart from the Monopoly incident, but then…that had been a pretty intense night for all those involved.

“Well, he’s your friend? Look, friends- sometimes they lash out. The important thing is that you make it right. And you can. And then you won’t have to spend the day being annoyed by me next time Geralt wants to go to the stables.”

Her face did something, a little quirk of her lips, a softness to her eyes, the guilty expression she’d been wearing just moments before vanishing, “Jaskier? You’re not a bad person to spend a day with.” A pause, “I’m glad you’re dating my Dad.”

Jaskier feels warmth fill his chest again, and he was pretty sure he’s _blushing_ which isn’t fair – he’s usually great at putting up with people’s politeness without feeling the need to turn red all over. But…it’s a pretty high compliment. A really high compliment, coming from her. She’s _Geralt’s daughter._ And sometimes…sometimes he worries, he’ll admit. He knows how stunning Yennefer and Geralt are together, and he knows that Yennefer and Ciri are close. Sometimes he feels like the interloper into their perfect little picture, and one day they’ll realise he’s the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit and they’ll kick him out.

It’s stupid. But—well. Having Ciri say that? It makes him feel a little better anyway.

“Eat your pizza, before I steal it,” he murmurs, taking a bite of his own and pretending he isn’t warmed by the way she laughs at him.

-///-

“Okay, okay, why didn’t your Dad _tell_ me that there was an animal shelter just round from his apartment? How didn’t I _know_? Come on, Ciri, we can see the animals—”

They were almost back at Geralt’s when he spotted it; the brightly painted yellow sign with the pink paw print warm, and welcoming and _so_ fucking adorable.

“Dad says we don’t have the space for a pet.”

“Your Dad is a coward, and he owns a _horse._ ”

She shakes her head at him, but there’s a smirk her lips, “Yes, but we don’t keep the horse in the apartment.”

“We’re not going to _get_ a pet; we’re just going to get some serotonin by _looking_ at the pets. Come on.”

It’s a nice place, that’s the first thing he thinks when he walks through the door. Considering its in the middle of a city, it seems pretty spacious and he’s about to walk up to the front desk when—

“ _Renfri_?”

It strikes him that he doesn’t actually know what Renfri does for a living despite how often they hang out at the pub. But his money was sort of on her being a professional assassin not…working in an animal shelter. It seems too…cutsie, for how terrifying she is.

“Oh, _fuck,_ someone let in the toddler. Is Ciri acting as your responsible guardian today?”

He can hear Cici giggle at his side. Traitor.

“You work at an animal shelter? And you _didn’t_ tell me? Renfri, I am _hurt._ Hurt and _offended._ ”

“Oh, how will I cope with knowing I _hurt_ and _offended_ you? Wait, I forgot, I don’t give a fuck about your feelings.”

“You’re the worst.” Jaskier deadpans, but alright, he’s smiling. She’s terrifying, but there _is_ a reason he hangs out with her, and it’s not just for Geralt’s benefit.

“What are you doing here anyway? There is no way Yennefer gave you the go-ahead to get a pet for the apartment,” she leant forward, “ _Or_ did she finally run you off? You looking for a companion to keep you safe on the streets?”

“Oh, shut up. Me and Ciri were just going to look before I drop her back off at home. I didn’t realise we had an animal shelter in the neighbourhood, otherwise, you bet your ass I would have been in her sooner.”

“And _that_ is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Renfri considers them for a moment, then sighs, “Fine. But only for Cirilla, not for you.”

They’re led through into the back and Jaskier can feel the excitement building in his chest at the happy barks and other related animal noises surrounding them. “We’ve got twelve dogs and fifteen cats with us at the moment,” Renfri explains as they walk, “we’re a small centre, but they get good care. Staff ratio is four pets for every member, so they’re well known.” Ciri gravitates towards a happy looking boxer dog, and Renfri opens up the kennel to let her go in and pet the boy. Jaskier wanders around, waving to animals, ignoring the judgemental looks Renfri gifts him with when he coos or talks to them about how _pretty_ they are (because they are, they are all _incredibly_ pretty).

It is only when he sees a little black dash of fur that he decides to ask Renfri if he can enter one of the kennels himself.

And there, in the centre is a black kitten. He reaches out his hand, but as soon as he does the cute little thing turns feral, hisses and runs into the corner. Renfri barks a laugh from behind him. “Yeah, she doesn’t really like people. Sorry, should have warned you.”

Jaskier shrugs, sits down at the edge, “I am the _master_ of putting up with grouchy people want to run from affection,” _Geralt_ is his boyfriend after all, “Let Ciri look around, I’ll wait here until I’m needed.”

He popped out his phone, sent a few random pictures of the animals nearby to Essi with the caption _I want them all. -JP_ And then a few to Geralt with the caption _if you hide the fact that there are animal shelters near your home again I’m breaking up with you. -J{_

He’s not really paying attention to the little black cat.

Not until he feels a weight on his shoe.

He blinks, glancing down and there are little teeth, little _adorable_ teeth biting at his shoelaces.

Oh, _fuck._

He is _not_ leaving here with a cat. Renfri is right, Yennefer would kill him.

He is _not_ leaving here with a cat.

He is _not._

-///-

“Yennefer! Hi! Hi, welcome home, come on in, yep, so, I made lasagne and I cleaned the bathroom – yep, had a great day with Ciri, we went to see a movie, did _you_ have a good day? I mean, of course, you did, you’re not slamming doors, okay so—”

“What did you _do_?”

Yennefer isn’t even _really_ through the front door. Jaskier thought it best to corner her in the hallway.

“Uh,” he says, eloquently, and then, “please don’t be mad. I’ll take her with me when I move out.”

Yennefer’s eyes narrow. “You’ll take _who_ with you?”

As if on cue, the little black fluffball pads into the hallway and gives a loud, annoyed _meow._ Now that she’s not running off into the corner of kennels to hide away from him, she’s actually good company, although incredibly demanding. He hasn’t stopped petting her since he got home – she wouldn’t even leave him alone long enough for him to properly set up the scratching stand Renfri had bequeathed to him.

And yeah, alright, he should have checked with Yennefer first. It’s just—she _ate his shoelace._ And Renfri said that she didn’t warm up to people easily. He couldn’t just _leave_ the poor thing there. It was his God-given duty to look after vicious little buggers who needed love.

“Oh, you _didn’t._ ” Yennefer hisses.

“Look! You’re a cat person, right? You seem like a cat person.”

“I am a _dog_ person.”

He blinks, “huh, really? Because little Yen 2.0 here—"

“You are _not_ calling it that.”

“— _her_ that, and no, I’m just trying things, we can’t just call her kitten or fluffball. She deserves something more inventive, don’t you, sweet cheeks?” he reaches down to pet the kittens forehead, unable to hide his smile when she begins to purr.

Of course, his smile disappears when Yennefer actually _growls._ Yikes. “Is she even housetrained?”

“She’s…a cat? Do they not come house trained?”

“I _hate_ you.” Yennefer breathes.

“You don’t hate me. You can’t hate me. We have a cat to raise together now, and you’d be setting a bad example.”

The kitten decides its had enough of Jaskier’s petting and – quite suddenly – bites his finger. “Ow!”

It runs off, somewhere into the depths of the apartment.

Jaskier turns his face to Yennefer, about to come up with a dozen reasons why it would be _very mean_ of her to kick out the cat. But she’s staring at his scratched finger and _oh, of course,_ she’d only let the thing stay if she knew it would _hurt him_ in some ways too.

“Fine. But it leaves when you do. And it is _not_ my cat. It is your cat. You buy its food. You sort out its messes. This is on _you._ ”

-///-

Two hours later, Jaskier sneaks a picture of the cat – the _traitor_ cat, who was supposed to like _him_ the most – curled up on Yennefer’s lap, her hands absently petting through its fur as they eat lasagne and watch _The Office._

He sends it over to Geralt with he caption: _New addition to the family :-P -JP_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a firm believer of the 'if you act like a dog (Jaskier) you're a cat person and if you act like a cat (Yennefer) you're a dog person' rule of thumb. Not that Yennefer isn't going to get immensely attached to BOTH her new housemates.
> 
> Thank you for all your encouragment in the comments on the last section! I hope you enjoy this one just as much! Let me know what you thought :) Every comment and kudos warms my soul


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier – like any human – had plenty of problems.

There was his music career that was going nowhere, the numerous temp jobs that came with a different boss to hate every other week, the shitty apartments, his terrifying possibly-out-to-poison-him roommate, the price of cat food, the fact that Geralt seemed to be avoiding the apartment, the horrid grey colour of the kitchen walls. The list went on and on.

But, at three AM on a Tuesday, what was currently his biggest problem was the fact that he couldn’t reach the damn cereal.

How Yennefer had even managed to get it up to this shelf was beyond him. She was plenty of things – a good deal of them scary enough to warrant giving her a wide berth - but one thing she wasn’t? She wasn’t _tall._

“Shit,” he cursed, almost falling from where he’d precariously perched himself on the kitchen counter in order to reach the brightly coloured flavoured goodness on top of the cabinet. His fingers brushed against the corner, tugging them towards him. Victory!

_Crash._

Ah. Maybe he spoke too soon.

Under the table, Little Yen 2.0 hissed in shock, scampering away in a flash of black fur.

He stared down at the selection of pink, blue and yellow cereal loops shattered on the floor. And – because he was very clearly under a _curse_ – when he raised his eyes from the mess there was Yennefer, in the doorway.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She was quite the picture; stood there with her hair a mess and her hand on her hip, Little Yen 2.0 returning to rub up against her ankles.

Jaskier hesitated, “Uh…getting cereal?” That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m shit at sleeping.”

He was too. Sleep was a mistress who refused to let him court her, most days. His mind just seemed to run too fast. It was hard to shut it down. Some nights it was easier – the nights when he had a warm body sleeping next to him, these days in the form of a sleep mused Geralt – but others…well. Others required cereal. At three AM.

He watched Yennefer cautiously, waited for the inevitable shouting match to begin. Instead, she gestured to the floor, “clean it up. Quickly. And get off the counter, this isn’t a fucking jungle gym.”

Which…wasn’t exactly _nice_ but then, it could have been a lot worse too.

He jumped down, taking her in as he did. Her hair was tossed up in a bun but there was nothing artful about the strands escaping it. Her chemise hung loose, but she’d pulled on a worn jumper over the top that he recognised as one of Geralt’s (it was a wonder Geralt actually _had_ any jumpers left, considering how many his significant others stole from him). Still, maybe he could have looked past all of that, written it off as the lateness of the hour and the lack of company to impress. It was her eyes though, that gave it away. There were deep bags under them. He was familiar with the type; they were the sort that came only from true exhaustion.

Common ground! “You’re shit at sleeping too,” he gave a small, lopsided smile as a dustpan and brush were shoved unceremoniously into his hands

She sighed as if incredibly put upon by his antics, “evidently. It’s hardly something to bond over.” She outstretched a hand to flick the kettle on.

Jaskier scooped up what he could of the cereal and threw the rest in the bin. It was a shame, but they _did_ have a cat now. Probably best not to eat that kind of thing straight off the floor. Besides, if he tried, Yennefer would definitely judge him for it.

“Cereal?”

“No. Tea?”

Not a good idea to accept drinks from Yennefer. Any one of them could contain that fatal dose of poison he was waiting on.

“Yeah, go on then.”

He poured himself what was left of the brightly coloured cereal, opening the fridge to grab the milk.

He was interrupted by a scoff behind him, “You’re using _chocolate milk_?”

“Uh…yeah? It makes it taste better.”

“You’re a _child._ ”

Jaskier shrugged, “Uh-huh.” He hopped up to sit on the side of the table, bowl in hand and watched her stretch for cups from the cupboard, “So, what’s it for you? Insomnia? Nightmares? Wacked up sleep schedule you never cleared up from school?”

Yennefer put the cups down, didn’t turn to face him as she got out the teabags, “We’re not doing this.”

“What? Why not?”

She raised her hands in exasperation. There was a tension in her shoulders, he noted, and for once he didn’t think he was the cause of it, “Because, it’s _hardly something to bond over._ I’m just making tea. And you’re wrecking my kitchen at three AM.”

“Hey! Little Yen 2.0 was helping!” he pointed to the kitten who – traitor – was sat at Yennefer’s feet, licking her paws like absolutely _nothing_ was the matter.

“I said we’re _not_ calling the cat that,” Yennefer growled.

“We’ve had her two weeks! It’s what she responds to!”

The kettle clicked off, the sudden absence of its rumbling leaving the room oddly silent.

“ _You’ve_ had her for two weeks. And she doesn’t. She also responds to _the cat._ ”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Yes, well. We can’t call her _the cat_ for the rest of her life. That’s rude. It’d be like you calling me _the human._ ”

“Julian,” she finally turned to face him. Which threw him off a little bit, actually because she was giving him a _Look_. He didn’t quite know how to classify it, but whatever it was it made him almost drop his bowl of chocolate milky goodness.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do _you_ want to talk about why you’re awake?”

And he didn’t. Not really. He’d be more happy listening. Only, well, he kind of _did_ want to talk about it, actually. Not the whole shebang – no need to get too caught up on the details. He’d always had a shitty sleep schedule and Yennefer of all people wasn’t going to be able to fix that. But perhaps there was one thing they could find common ground in. The same thing they _always_ found common ground in.

“Geralt’s been avoiding the apartment, have you noticed?”

“Hmm,” Yennefer turned back again, pouring the hot water and handing over his tea. Jaskier put the bowl down so he could take it.

“I know he doesn’t have a lot of time to come over here anyway—but I mean, _come on._ He wanted this arrangement at least partly selfishly. Us both in one place. And he’s got us here, hasn’t he? But he’s not coming round.”

Yennefer took a sip of her tea, purple nails stark against the white ceramic of the mug, “he could just be busy with Ciri. You said that she’d fallen out with her friend, right?”

“That’s so not it. Ciri can come here. You like her. I like her. We’re, you know. Family.” Even if relations between Yennefer and himself were tense, they both loved Geralt and they both adored Ciri.

“Yeah,” Yennefer admitted finally, “Okay. It is odd. But it’s possible he’s doing so to try and make us _bond._ Common cause and all that.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose, “you think he’s that clever?”

Yennefer shrugged, “I think he’s that desperate. You’re living here, aren’t you? He’s already put us in one place – that’s a pretty drastic measure.”

He supposed she had a point. Still, their Geralt? Geralt could be smart, but he could also be as dense as a brick.

“Well. What are we going to do about it? Withhold sex?”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, “And you think you could manage that one, do you?”

Jaskier grunted. Alright. That was fair. He was notoriously horny. “Well, what do you suggest?”

Yennefer tapped her foot on the ground, “Date night.”

“I’ve had those with him recently, we always end up back at his place. You had one yesterday you were all…fancy for it,” she’d looked stunning, actually. Cherry red lips, hair in a fancy up-do, sheer black dress that teased the imagination in just the right way…

“Yes, we had date nights _out._ But let’s have one in. A movie night. With the both of us.”

Jaskier blinked. He hadn’t considered that. They didn’t really share date nights, because when they were together they tended to bicker, and that sort of thing could ruin a romantic atmosphere. But maybe…maybe Yennefer was right. It would certainly tempt Geralt here. Probably.

“Alright. Agreed. Date night it is,” he finished off his cereal, plopping the bowl in the sink.

“Fucks sake, Jaskier, if you don’t wash that up…”

“You’re the one who left the pan in the sink last week!”

“’Cos I was called away for work I was hardly planning it—”

Well. Back to bickering as normal then.

-///-

“Jaskier. Why are there bright pink sequin cushions on my couch?”

“Um…because I live here too?”

“They hardly fit the aesthetic.”

“It’s eclectic.”

“It’s a mess.”

“I can’t keep _all_ my stuff in my room forever.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

-///-

“You got a cat.”

There is something in Geralt’s voice that isn’t _quite_ his usual disinterested monotone, but then, nor is it anything that sounds particularly _glad._

Jaskier scoops up the little kitty from where she’s nudging at his foot, “Uh, yeah? You’re not allergic are you?”

Geralt hesitates where he is stood in the doorway of the living room, “Cats…don’t like me.”

“Even cats named after your girlfriend?”

“I said you are _not_ allowed to keep calling the cat that,” Yennefer growled, a slender arm coming to wrap around Geralt’s middle from behind, standing on her toes to murmur in his ear, “It’s fine, Geralt. The cat is no more or less trouble than your boy.”

“Ha! So you’ll admit you’re happy I got the cat!”

Yennefer turned her piercing violet gaze onto Jaskier, “I never said that.”

She didn’t _have_ to say that. Little Yen 2.0 was a dirty traitor of a cat. In the two weeks since they’d gotten her, she’d already gone ahead and chosen her favourite lap to perch in while they watched The Office and it wasn’t Jaskier’s. Far from skinning the thing alive and making shoes out of its fur, Yennefer could often be found stroking it.

Her name was _definitely_ Little Yen 2.0.

In his arms, the little black ball of fur wiggled and Jaskier reluctantly set her down and watched her go scampering off into the other room.

Geralt – he noted – only stepped towards the couch _after_ the cat was gone. “Wait- you’re actually really worried the cat won’t like you.”

Geralt grunted, “Don’t be stupid, Jask.”

Jaskier caught Yennefer’s eyes, knowing that the glint of mischief he found in them was mirrored within his own expression.

“You _are_ ,” Yennefer neatly folds herself onto the couch, one knee drawn up underneath her chin, smirk that could cut glass etched onto her features. How does she manage to get her dress to fall so elegantly while she’s relaxing back like that? There has to be some secret to it.

Geralt looks between them, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to solve some unanswerable puzzle.

Jaskier bursts out laughing. He can’t help it. “Hey! If you didn’t want us ganging up on you, you shouldn’t have suggested we move in together,” he sits himself on the other side of the couch, so there’s a place for Geralt between them.

“Hmm,” Geralt sits, and Jaskier wastes no time in snuggling up to his side even as Geralt leans over to distract Yennefer with a brief kiss. Jaskier grabs the remote, cues up ‘Stardust’ on his Netflix account (which, alright, maybe they won’t be _thrilled_ about having to watch that, but they can pick the movie next time, can’t they? He wants romantic fairy-tale goodness).

It’s…quaint, almost. Jaskier doesn’t know why they haven’t done this before. Well, okay, that’s a lie. They haven’t done this before because Yennefer and Jaskier were prone to biting each other’s head off if they spent more than an hour in each other’s company. But they’d had practice now, hadn’t they? And this…both being next to Geralt, sharing him at the same time…it was nice. Certainly something Jaskier could get used to.

“How’s Ciri?” Yennefer asks after a moment.

“Hmm, fine. She made up with Dara,” Geralt murmurs.

_Ha._ Win for Jaskier – at least, he would like to think that his and Ciri’s talk had something to do with her making up with her friend. He feels oddly proud of it, actually. He’d never kid himself into believing he could be a parent to Ciri, but it’s nice to know he’s at the very least a good influence.

There is, as Jaskier predicted, much snorting and mocking of the movie. Every time he whinges and whines because _hey_ it’s _romantic_ and they _love each other_ alright. “If I could,” he announces at one point, “I would glow so brightly around Geralt everyone would be blinded!”

Yennefer throws a pink sequin cushion at him.

And that is about the time the cat appears.

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way that Geralt tenses up at its appearance which is kind of adorable, actually. Little Yen 2.0 couldn’t hurt a fly (he’s pointedly ignoring the fact that he’s pretty sure she _could_ hurt a fairly large bird if she tried) and besides, Geralt spent his free time at a stables looking after a horse. What was a little cat compared to an animal that could literally trample you with its hooves whenever it wanted to?

“Hey there, little one,” Jaskier coo’s, “You won’t hurt our boyfriend, will you? No, of _course_ you won’t, sweet thing.”

Yennefer snorts. It’s a sound that Jaskier has become oddly used to.

Eventually, Little Yen 2.0 becomes curious about the new-comer, jumping up onto – you guessed it – Yen’s lap first of all. Why does she have to be such a traitor? Jaskier is the one who bought her _and_ Jaskier feeds and cleans out her litter tray.

She meows, purring as she rubs her face against her namesake’s front.

Geralt is watching her like she’s a spider that just crawled out from somewhere unseemly.

“Careful, she can smell fear,” Yennefer cautions.

Geralt grunts at her, “not funny, Yen.”

Jaskier, meanwhile, is cackling. It is _very_ funny.

There’s a knock on the door and Jaskier grins, “That’ll be the pizza,” he hops up, happily heading towards the door and picking up Little Yen 2.0 from Yennefer’s lap in the process. It’s fun to tease but he doesn’t _actually_ want to make Geralt uncomfortable. She meows, presses her wet little nose to his hand. Fuck, he loves this cat with all his heart.

When he gets back from the door (somehow, he ended up paying again?) he finds Geralt and Yennefer have neglected to watch the movie and instead are making out on the couch. It’s quite a scene; Yennefer has her hand fisted in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s leaning into her like he’s starved for her.

He’s long since gotten past the jealous phase though. This whole situation wouldn’t work if he was jealous.

Besides, he can admit it (if he had enough vodka shots in him), it’s sort of hot.

“Alright, alright, break it up you two, we’ve got food.”

Yennefer pulls away, and she’s almost purring, “Jealous?”

“And why, my dear, would I be jealous when I can do this?” he leans in to press his lips to Geralt’s too, something a little hotter and heavier than he’d usually allow in polite company. Geralt’s lips taste like lipstick. Yennefer’s lipstick. Huh.

He pulls back, throwing a wink at Yennefer.

Geralt rolls his eyes, “You two are ridiculous.”

“Yep,” Jaskier agrees, grabbing a slice and settling back in for the second half of the movie.

They really should do this more often.

-///-

“Yennefer, my darling, my dear, I am going to _smash_ your alarm in with a hammer if you keep setting it so loud and so early.”

“Maybe if you had a decent sleep schedule it wouldn’t be such an issue.”

“Ha! You can talk.”

“Some of us like to actually show up for work in the morning.”

“You’re the worst.”

-///-

Banging the front door closed wasn’t as cathartic as Jaskier had hoped it would be, neither was stomping his way down the hall, but damn it he was _pissed._

His fucking gig had been cancelled.

And alright, maybe it had been a relatively small thing. He wasn’t liable to win any awards for an opening number to an indie act. But he’d been looking forward to it. The show was sold out; he’d be playing to an actual crowd. At the very least the exposure would be good for his Spotify ratings.

But no, of course not. Why _would_ this go right for him? Why would anything?

He had to admit it; his music career had hit a dead end. At this point, the likelihood was he’d be playing a Friday night slot in some crappy pub for the rest of his life, moaning about how he could have been something one day.

“Is there a reason you’re stomping about out there, or are you just desperate for my attention?”

“Piss off, Yen, I’m not in the mood.”

If he started arguing with her tonight likelihood was that he’d dig himself a hole so deep he’d be packing his bags and on the street by morning. It would be far worse than empty milk cartoons and sequin pillows.

“I’m cooking,” she said simply, “come and help.”

And he didn’t _want_ to help. He didn’t want to do anything but sulk under the covers, maybe cuddle Little Yen 2.0.

But…her tone had brooked no room for argument. Besides, he was thirsty. He could nip in, get a drink and be sulking in his room in no time.

The kitchen smelt of rosemary and basil, of freshly chopped tomatoes, the dull colour on the wall at odds with the vibrant scents bombarding him as he entered.

“Chop those onions,” the command was said without her turning around to face him.

He had no desire to but bickering right now felt like a piss poor idea. So he sighed, found a knife, and got to it. He could still leave whenever he wanted, he reasoned. It wasn’t like she was trapping him with conversation.

Her hand on his back startled him for a minute, and he was ready to snap at her, until he realised that all she was doing was taking the chopping board out from under him. Oh. He’d finished chopping the onions. He hadn’t even realised.

Groaning, he plonked himself onto the kitchen chair.

“Well, it must be bad, if you’re actually sitting on the furniture that’s designed to be sat on,” the first proper comment Yennefer had made all evening, backed turned to him, stirring onions.

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

“Is that supposed to be your best Geralt impression? Brooding doesn’t suit you, songbird, you should leave it to the professionals.”

He snorted out a bit of a laugh, and that’s when it hit him. Wait, no, surely not? Was she…trying to comfort him? Distract him? In her own, messed up way?

No. No, he was reading too much into it. She needed a sous chef, that was all. He was nought but a worker bee for her dinner preparations.

“Hmm. His brooding helped me out more than once, you know. Did I ever tell you the story about when I badgered him to pretend to be my fake-bodyguard and then he actually had to punch a guy?” It’s an amusing story, actually, one of his classics, and when she shook her head he launched into it. It was a well-practised dance, the telling of the tale; dramatic pauses, certain phrases he used to invoke laughter in his audience, the solemn re-telling of Geralt’s lie about Jaskier losing both his balls as a child – Not true! Not true! He was always quick to assure – and the punch line that came when it turned out Jaskier wasn’t even invited to the party at all!

In the end, the rhythm of the story had him laughing, truly laughing, and he’d almost forgotten all about his cancelled concert. Surprisingly, she acted the perfect audience: she even chuckled at the right points, though she’d shoved a cheese grater into his hands so he could be useful while he spoke.

“Stir this for me?” She requested when he’d finally finished, checking whatever she’d put in the oven.

The sauce was thick, red, ad smelt divine. He was tempted to taste some and – because he wasn’t a coward – that was exactly what he did.

Except he hadn’t factored for how hot it was.

“Shit, shit!” he breathed, dropping the spoon and, “oh _crap_ this is one of my favourite tops.”

Yennefer glanced up at him, and then promptly threw her head back and laughed. Not a fake laugh either, or a chuckle, it wasn’t perfected in any way or performed. She was just…laughing. At something, she found genuinely amusing.

She kind of looked stunning for it, actually.

“Oh, shut it.”

“That’s karma.”

“I just wanted to taste,” he whined.

“Child,” she accused, and he was probably imagining the fondness in her voice.

-///-

“All I’m saying, Julian, is that if you’re going to get drunk again try _not_ falling asleep on the bathroom floor.”

“It was comfortable. Better than anywhere else.”

“Yes, but some of us need to _use the bathroom._ ”

“I wasn’t stopping you.”

“You’re so gross.”

-///-

If there is one thing he hates about Yennefer’s apartment it is the _abysmal_ colour of the kitchen.

It’s not light enough. It makes the whole place feel…dull. He’s been living here almost a month and – unlike some of the other décor which, alright, he can admit Yennefer has taste – it’s yet to grow on him. He’s pretty sure it is never going to grow on him because it’s just plain shitty.

He’s paid his half of the monthly rent, he owns a cat who lives here and most importantly, it’s one AM and he’s bored out of his mind.

And there’s a twenty-four-hour supermarket not far from their place.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to paint the kitchen. Nobody can stop him. He cooks in it, he cleans it (sometimes), he’s basically doing Yennefer a favour.

Plus, if his body is found washed up on the riverbanks at some point in the near future, it’s not like his music career was going anywhere anyway.

There is one tiny little problem of course. The supermarket _does_ have a paint section but they’re not exactly well-stocked. There’s only one vibrant colour he can find at the back of the shelves.

Fuck it. He’s walked all the way here. He’s going to do it.

He’s going to paint the kitchen.

Nobody can stop him.

“What the _fuck_ sort of colour is that?”

Jaskier glances up from where he’s balanced on the counter to reach the space just above the cabinets. There’s sun streaming through the window, now – how long has he been at this – and a tired, spiteful looking Yennefer stood in the doorway.

Ah. Right.

“I’m sorry, the colour in here was _awful._ ”

“And vomit green is better _how_?”

“It’s _lime_ green, thank you very much. Check the tin if you don’t believe me,” he gestures. “I was bored. And I’m not allowed to play music past eight PM, that’s _your_ rule.”

He watches as her jaw clenches, “are you implying I brought this upon myself.”

He hops down from the counter, “well, you _did_ invite me to move in with you.”

“And you’ve been nothing but a bother! You bought a cat; you’ve messed up my kitchen—”

“I _improved_ your kitchen.”

She throws up her hands, “this is ridiculous. Do you have _any_ impulse control, or did that get knocked out of you when your mother dropped you on your head as a baby?”

“Oh, come on. It’s brighter in here now, isn’t it? Is it really so bad?”

He bites his lower lip. Maybe he…should have asked. Just because he pays rent doesn’t mean he’s going to be here forever; she’s going to have to repaint it when he leaves. Which, actually, he hasn’t checked the paper in a while for housing ads, he should probably get on that.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use scary voodoo to turn me into a frog, or something, even if it would match the colour scheme, ha, right—okay, no joking, this is serious. Just…I don’t know. I should have asked. Shit. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck.

She watches him for a moment longer, before shaking her head. “Whatever.” She mutters, finally, “When it gives us both a headache, you’re painting it back.”

Jaskier offers her a sweet smile, “It won’t! You’ll warm up to it, you’ll see.”

Little Yen 2.0 meows at their feet, seeking feeding.

Jaskier yawns, checks his watch. Two hours before he has to be at work. Probably doesn’t have time for a nap. He turns to the coffee machine instead. He’s definitely going to need it.

But at least the kitchen is brighter.

-///-

“ _Julian._ Is that my nail polish?”

“What, ah, oh this? Um…no.”

“It _is._ ”

“You left it on the side!”

“That wasn’t an invitation!”

“But it looked so good the last time you wore it and I had that date with Geralt and—”

“Fucks sake, Julian.”

“Look, you can borrow mine next time?”

“I don’t want to deal with bright yellow tack on my fingers?”

“That’s just rude.”

“You want to watch the Office?”

“Yeah, alright.”

-///-

“You got a _cat_ with her? I thought this was supposed to be temporary, Jaskier? What the hell are you _doing_?” Essi’s voice down the phone was disbelieving. Which…was probably fair.

“Hey! Not _with_ her. I never got a cat _with_ her. _I_ got a cat. When I move out, little Yen 2.0 is coming with me.” Jaskier flopped back on his bed feeling…oddly like he was under a magnifying glass about all of this.

“You got a cat and _named it after her._ ”

“Well…yeah. They’re both…cat-like. And annoying.”

“Jaskier, you send me pictures of that damn fluff ball every day. You _love_ that cat.”

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Essi sighed. He could hear her flop down on something on her end – some hotel room bed, somewhere. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to be there too. They could open a bottle of wine, get sloshed together. “Just…you’re not _acting_ like someone who’s planning on moving out anytime soon. You painted her kitchen, Jask.”

“A horrible colour! That she hates! We’re still being completely normal.”

Essi’s silence speaks for itself. _She_ doesn’t think this is normal, clearly.

But she’s wrong. It _is_ normal. At least, it’s the new normal. So what if he and Yennefer have a cat they’re co-parents of? And so what if he is painting the kitchen?

So what if he wanted to stay? Yeah, it’s shitty, but it’s _less_ shitty than his past five apartments. And he thinks him and Yennefer have come to…a somewhat uneasy truce, in the past few weeks. He doesn’t play his music after eight PM, she watches the Office with him and doesn’t kick him out to the curb when he makes impulsive decisions about their living arrangements (see: buying a cat, painting the kitchen etc.).

And Geralt _does_ have it easier with them both in one place.

It’s not a _perfect_ arrangement by any stretch. But it’s better than he ever imagined it being. That’s got to count for _something._

“Just be careful,” Essi speaks finally. “You’re—”

“I’m what?”

Essi was quiet for a long moment, “Just be careful. Look, I’ve got to go, alright? Keep sending me pictures of your cat. I love you.”

“I love you too, Essi.”

He keeps the phone to his ear for a while, even after she hangs up, staring at the ceiling.

_Be careful._

But there’s nothing to worry about. He’s just got a new living arrangement. And it’s working. They should be celebrating, not giving ominous warnings from halfway across the globe.

“Oi, shithead, I’m putting the TV on,” Yennefer’s voice calling from somewhere startles him out of his thoughts, his hand dropping the phone back to the side.

He shakes himself out of it. It’s fine. It’s _fine._ Essi was probably just stressed after the show. Things are finally looking up; she can’t get down on him for that.

“Alright, coming!” he calls, scooping up Little Yen 2.0 from the foot of his bed as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop! Finally managed to write and edit this boi. I do love my roommate AU so I'll try not to neglect it quite as much as I have been - I've just been very busy with a soulmate AU that has finally, /finally/ been sent off to my beta so I don't have to think about it anymore. 
> 
> Special shoutout to the lovely peeps on the Yenskier discord chat for helping me come up with little things that Yen and Jask could bicker about throughout this chapter!
> 
> Toss a comment and a kudos to your struggling fanfic writer?

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr and send a prompt if you'd like! [@Jaskier-wearing-dresses](https://jaskier-wearing-dresses.tumblr.com/)


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